Survivor (50 page)

‘It’s lovely,’ Mariette
lied as she surveyed the little cottage Morgan had managed to borrow from someone at
Netley for the weekend. ‘Very atmospheric.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t
say romantic, or I might have slapped you for telling fibs,’ Morgan said.
‘I’d call it creepy, and I think this may be Jim’s idea of a
joke.’

The cottage was only a mile or two
outside Southampton. Jim had described it to Morgan as being like something out of a
fairy tale, very picturesque, in a little wood. He’d said the bus would drop
them at the top of the track that led to it.

He hadn’t said that the fairy tale
was one about a witch, that the cottage hadn’t had any repairs in years, or
that the track was the best part of a mile long and very muddy from recent rain.
Mariette found the long walk in such poor conditions quite difficult, and she looked
tired now.

It was the first week in November, and
cold and blustery. The wind was banging a gate which was hanging off its hinges, and
the trees all around the cottage were creaking ominously.

‘I’m sure it will be lovely
inside, once we’ve lit a fire,’ Mariette said. ‘I brought some
firelighters with me, just in case there weren’t any here.’

‘I think we’re going to be
very glad of all your “just in cases”!’ Morgan smiled as he looked
down at the big bag he was carrying for Mariette. She’d already told him it
contained clean sheets, a pot of stew – which she’d bribed the cook at the
nurses’ home to make for her – candles, various grocery
items including milk and bread, and a half-bottle of
brandy which she’d won in a tombola.

‘Let’s go in,’
Mariette said, a hint of trepidation in her voice. ‘This is turning into a bit
of an adventure, isn’t it?’

Morgan unlocked the door and mentally
kicked himself for not booking a hotel room. But Jim had said the cottage in the
woods was romantic and Mariette would love it.

They both might have done, if
they’d been able to come in the summer. But the way things were at Netley,
with new casualties flooding in from France daily, Morgan could never get more than
a few hours off.

The door needed a hard push, and as it
opened they were greeted by a smell of damp. ‘It just needs airing,’
Mariette said. ‘First job is to get the fire lit.’

It wasn’t as bad inside as it
looked from the outside. There was one main room with a big fireplace, a scullery
leading off behind it, and a bedroom at the far end. The furniture was plain, the
kind a farm worker would have had back at the turn of the century, and the carpet on
the bare boards was frayed and old.

‘Jim’s grandmother lived
here,’ Morgan said. ‘She left it to him. He said he spent all his school
holidays here as a kid.’

‘Perhaps that’s why he
hasn’t noticed it could do with a bit of smartening up,’ Mariette said
as she emptied the contents of her bag on to the table and rummaged for the
firelighters. ‘But look how much wood there is,’ she added, pointing to
a stack of logs at the side of the chimney which almost reached the ceiling.
‘At least we won’t be cold.’

Morgan took off his coat, and began
laying the fire. He looked round to see Mariette inspecting an oil lamp.

‘That’s lucky, it’s
full up,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ll just trim the wick and
light it. We can pretend we’re at home in Russell.’

Morgan had the fire going in no time as
all the wood was
very dry. He smiled to
see Mariette playing house; she’d not only got the oil lamp lit but had worked
out how to prime the water pump in the scullery, how to turn on a cylinder of gas
for the gas stove, and the kettle was now on.

He found it immensely comforting to
watch her stacking up the food in the scullery, checking the pots and pans and
generally making herself at home. He had been very nervous all week about how things
would be when they went to bed. Somehow he’d imagined them rushing through the
door and into the bedroom immediately. This was much better, it didn’t feel
like a challenge.

‘The bed feels a bit damp,’
Mariette called out from the bedroom. ‘It’s a feather mattress, but if
we give it a shake and prop it up in front of the fire for a bit it should be
fine.’

‘We had a horsehair mattress when
I was a kid,’ Morgan said as they hauled the mattress out into the living room
and shook it. ‘Hard as nails and usually full of bedbugs. Mind you, the
mattresses on the beds at Netley are horsehair too, only no bedbugs. But I’m
always so tired when I fall into my bed, I’ve never really noticed how hard it
is.’

‘You can get used to
anything,’ she said. ‘At my Uncle Noah’s the beds were sprung and
beautiful. The first night at Joan’s in the East End I thought I’d never
sleep again, with so many lumps and bumps in the mattress, but I did. I used to
sleep OK in the shelters too.’

‘Do you think you’ll sleep
alright with me?’ he asked.

She reached out and ruffled his hair.
‘Yes, as long as you don’t snore. But I’m a bit scared,’ she
blurted out.

‘Why?’

She shrugged. ‘My leg, of course.
I’m afraid it might put you off.’

Morgan laughed. ‘If my face
doesn’t put you off, why should your leg affect me?’

She put one hand
either side of his face. ‘I know your face is scarred and kind of shiny, but
in my head it’s just the same as it used to be. Your voice is the same, and so
are your eyes, even your touch is just as it used to be. But let me tell you
something else. I’m so proud of you now, Morgan, because you didn’t
wallow and feel sorry for yourself, but became a brilliant nurse.

‘When I first met you, I saw the
handsome face, the charm, but there wasn’t much else there. Now there’s
a wealth of compassion, strength, tenacity and knowledge. You are a man to love now,
Morgan.’

She saw his eyes well up, and she wiped
the tears away with her thumbs. ‘Even if we can’t set the world alight
tonight, it won’t matter,’ she said softly. ‘I’m here with
you, and that’s all I want.’

‘You’ve changed so much too,
and all for the better,’ he said with a teary smile. ‘Back then, you
struck me as calculating and self-centred, but you were very young and I was knocked
out because you were so pretty. You aren’t pretty any more, you are beautiful,
inside and out. I love that you care about the soldiers, that your first thoughts
these days are for other people. Your missing leg is like a badge of honour because
you lost it protecting children. I love you more than I thought it was possible to
love anyone.’

They hugged each other, heads resting on
each other’s shoulders, hearts beating as one. No more words were necessary;
being together was all that mattered.

It remained that way. They ate the stew,
cuddled on the couch and even dropped off to sleep for a short while because the
cottage had become so warm. It was dark by four o’clock, and the wind was
howling outside. Mariette was nervous about going to the lavatory outside, so Morgan
went out there first and lit a candle in a jam jar to make sure there weren’t
any spiders.

‘I’ll stay outside the door, if you think the Bogey Man will come and
get you,’ he joked as she went in.

‘I’m not that
pathetic,’ she shouted back.

But as she came back into the scullery,
he leapt out at her from behind the door.

She nearly jumped out of her skin.
‘You beast!’ she exclaimed, but she laughed with him because it reminded
her of how she and her brothers used to frighten one another. It was funny that she
could feel frightened and safe at the same time.

Later, they put the aired mattress back
on the bed and laughed a great deal as they made it up with the clean sheets. But
although they kissed many times, Morgan made no attempt to take it any further.

They drank the brandy and played cards,
giggling because they were a little tipsy. Then Morgan suddenly stood up, lit a
candle, took her hand and said it was time for bed.

‘I had plans for us to lie in
front of the fire,’ he said, pulling her to him in a tight hug. ‘But I
think we’ll both find it cosier in the bed.’

She knew he meant ‘easier in the
dark’, but she liked him using the word ‘cosy’. That felt safe,
and not a bit frightening.

He disappeared, perhaps to check the
doors were locked and the oil lamp extinguished. Mariette unstrapped her leg, put on
her nightdress and quickly got into bed. By the light of the one lone candle the
bedroom looked pretty. The faded pink roses on the wallpaper and an embroidered
sampler, perhaps done by Jim’s grandmother as a child, evoked a feeling of
home for Mariette.

‘How is the bed?’ Morgan
asked as he came into the room. He must have been washing as his chest was bare.
Mariette saw that it was as bronzed and rippling with muscle as she remembered from
the voyage to England.

‘It’s like a snug nest,’ she said. ‘So soft you could drown
in it, and very warm. But how come you are so brown? I thought you didn’t get
a minute to yourself at Netley?’

‘I joined some of the ground staff
and recovering patients, cutting grass and pruning trees, when we had that hot spell
in September,’ he said. ‘Getting the wounded out into the sun and
looking at nature often does more good than drugs.’

She almost said that, in the dim light
of the candle, he looked no different from how he had been when she first met him.
And that lying in a warm, comfy bed, she felt no different either. But she
didn’t say it, just patted the bed for him to join her.

‘Well, here we are at last,’
he whispered to her, once he’d blown the candle out and they were lying face
to face in the bed. ‘So dreams can come true.’

The wind was blowing even harder, the
rain rattling down on the roof, but his breath was warm and sweet on her face, and
his hand on her hip felt heavy with promise.

‘You’ve dreamed about
this?’ she whispered back.

‘All the time, when I was in the
hospital having my burns treated. Not exactly real dreams, but I made myself think
about you to distract myself from the pain. It worked too. Later, after the first
couple of stabs at plastic surgery, I used to have these fantasies in which you came
to visit me, laid your hands on my face and all the scarring disappeared. I told the
army shrink that, and he said it was a very good sign that I allowed myself to think
love could conquer anything. But he asked why I hadn’t contacted you, if that
was how I felt.’

‘So what reason did you give
him?’

‘That I was too cowardly. I
thought you would reject me.’

He was being so honest she thought she
should be too. ‘I would like to think I wouldn’t have done that,’
she admitted.
‘But I’m
afraid I might have. I was so wrapped up in myself, back then. I only started to
feel real sympathy for others when the Blitz began and I saw houses crushed to a
pile of rubble and people digging with their bare hands to find a loved one buried
in the debris. Then losing Noah, Lisette and Rose on my twenty-first birthday, that
was utterly devastating. It was as if I’d had a hard coating around me till
then, and with each terrible blow, some of it chipped off. I think the last piece
went that night in the rowing boat with the French children and a bullet in my knee.
I was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to get the children to safety. I
didn’t even think about myself.’

‘I love you,’ he said
softly, sliding his arm around her and drawing her close to him. ‘Here in this
little cottage nothing matters, not the past, the future, nothing but us.’

He was so gentle and hesitant, as if he
thought she might stop him if he did anything she didn’t like. But as his
hands crept under her nightdress to cup her breasts, Mariette was suddenly so
aroused that she wanted it fast and furious. But Morgan set the pace, his hands
stroking every inch of her with gentle deliberation. He removed her nightdress as if
by magic and moved down to suck at her nipples while he pushed his fingers into her,
making her moan and writhe with pleasure.

She could feel his penis hard and erect
against her leg, yet when she tried to take it in her hand, he pushed her away. So
she gave herself up to the exquisite pleasure with abandon, let him probe, stroke
and rub her until an orgasm erupted, making her scream out his name.

He pulled her on top of him then, his
penis so hard and big that she thought she couldn’t take it all, but she was
wrong, and while still feeling the reverberations of her orgasm, she delighted in
the feeling of pleasuring him too.
She
sat up on him, and he lay back, cupping her breasts with his hands, moaning with
delight.

As his movement beneath her became
faster, he sat up, holding her so tightly to him by her buttocks, moving her in and
out while kissing her with such passion that it seemed impossible it could get any
better. But it did. Another orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, and at the height of
it she was aware of him telling her he loved her, as he came too.

Weak autumnal sunshine woke Mariette as
it hit her face, and she opened her eyes to find Morgan watching her.

‘Morning, beautiful,’ he
said. ‘I was beginning to think you would never wake up.’

She could only smile. They had made love
for hours, only falling asleep when the first rays of grey morning light began to
lighten the patch of sky they could see through the window.

‘I want to stay here all day,
it’s so warm and snug,’ she said.

‘Well, that’s fine by
me,’ Morgan laughed. ‘But a cup of tea and some eggy bread would be
good. I did see a couple of eggs, didn’t I?’

‘You did. Feel free to make our
breakfast then,’ she said. ‘And while you are at it, the fire needs
clearing and lighting. You could also heat some water for me to have a
wash.’

‘I’m relegated to the role
of servant now then, am I?’ he said, sitting up on the side of the bed and
pulling on his trousers. ‘I seem to remember last night I was a
god.’